


is it raining (where you are)

by mysticTwirl



Series: darling, you're a poet (you don't even know it) [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulthood, Canon Compliant, Editor Akaashi Keiji, Established Relationship, Fluff, For students and graduates out there, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Bokuto Koutarou, University Student Akaashi Keiji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticTwirl/pseuds/mysticTwirl
Summary: "Say Akaashi-kun, will you be taking Bokuto-kun to graduation?" his college friend asks.The truth is, he has yet to consider this an option. The idea of Bokuto sitting beside his mom, the former filled with naive praise, while the latter in quiet disdain, fills Akaashi with dread."I am sure he's the type to bring a large bouquet of flowers,” one friend suggests, “and balloons,” another adds."Bokuto-san seems like the type to propose during graduation."Akaashi freezes.Nearing the end of his university life, Akaashi overthinks writing, commitment, and Bokuto.(Or Akaashi is a work-in-progress, Bokuto doesn’t mind.)Can be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: darling, you're a poet (you don't even know it) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821622
Comments: 47
Kudos: 501





	is it raining (where you are)

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are caught in between their current life and the next, be kind to yourself
> 
> (and for those with complicated feelings over their thesis, such as myself)

It's the night before an away game, they had travelled 8 hours to arrive the day before, trained for 5 hours to prepare in unfamiliar grounds, Bokuto calls him anyway.

His voice is a relief on the phone, tone bright and words in a hurry, it would be impossible to know that he was just a shower fresh from slaving away to sport.

Bokuto provides a summary of his day and Akaashi only half listens, not because of a lack of interest, but because of the weight Bokuto's careless speech pools in his chest. He wants to respond, acknowledge the charm of Atsumu's jokes or the amusement in the team’s banter, but he remains still, gripping the phone.

Bokuto is retelling the last of today's training, _we're so strong, Akaashi- we're definitely going to win it all_ , when his tone shifts and finally, he asks, "how are you today?"

A seemingly innocent question, they swap phone calls multiple times a week. It's a pattern of sharing and oversharing between them, where they trade stories of the exciting and mundane.

Nothing is ever boring with Bokuto as he retells everything with an enthusiasm that matches scoring a successful spike. It is infectious, he manages to coax out stories from Akaashi too. He always has questions, details he was privy too, facts that Akaashi perceives as dull until he is asked and encouraged to expound.

But today had been different for Akaashi, different not because he had chosen another commute to university, nor gotten coffee from a place besides his regular. Today, Akaashi had open his laptop and found the words-

> _"We thank you for your interest in applying for..._
> 
> _…_
> 
> _unfortunately, you have not been selected for the position of..."_

And that's all they wrote. (False, they offered their well wishes on his ongoing job search and thanked him once again for his time). It was a generic email that only had his name on the subject, not the body.

That's all Akaashi needed to know. He had closed the email immediately, didn't spare a second to read it twice, and selected the garbage button. Petty, Akaashi thinks back, but the matter was private, and the world need not to judge.

That was 2 hours ago, now Akaashi sits in his dorm, phone on hand and laptop before him; he had been editing the current chapter of his thesis before his world crumbled over.

So how is Akaashi today, he himself does not know. The word isn't distraught nor depressed, but he doesn't feel okay either, he feels numb at the rejection. An emptiness had taken residence where his foolish hope once laid.

He had applied for an apprenticeship under a well-known author that wrote thought-pieces for a literature magazine he grew up reading. It was ambitious for an incoming graduate, he knew, but it was an opportunity that wouldn't present itself again.

How would Bokuto react, Akaashi thinks, during the split second he takes to answer the spiker's question. Surely, he'd console Akaashi and call him brave for trying, encourage him to find better opportunities and keep looking forward. Bokuto would want to know what's troubling him, both as a best friend and boyfriend; Akaashi feels obliged to tell him.

However, Akaashi doesn't currently know what to make of the rejection and his own feelings. He doesn't know how he'd react to being consoled and is not sure if he wants the reassurance. There is the numbness, it feels like a dark cloud looming inside of him, a reminder and a threat. Akaashi doesn't know if it will lead to an outpour of emotions, destructive like lightning or cold like rain. Maybe the clouds will weather away and fade after a night's sleep, he could only hope.

Akaashi doesn't want to subject Bokuto to his metaphorical inclement weather. He justifies that Bokuto has an important game tomorrow and is simply asking out of courtesy. Bokuto looks to him for support and informing him of his turmoil will do nothing to help his state of mind.

"I am doing well. My adviser had given me revisions to work on, so I am busy with that," the screen before Akaashi mocks him.

"What again? That's the hundredth time already, they're really being nitpicky about this."

"They're just critical of my work, it's their job," Akaashi defends, because his panelists do have high standards and somewhat unrealistic demands, but it's not their fault he fails to meet them.

"I just wish you could be done with it already. You've been working so hard, it's practically perfect by now."

Far from it, Akaashi sternly tells himself, there is no such thing as perfecting a thesis, just building towards its completion. You'll get revisions upon revisions, conflicting advice, and criticism from different academics- it's part of the process.

"Patience, Bokuto-san. It's still a work in progress and I am determined to see it through," or else, comes unsaid, but Bokuto wouldn't understand the hardships of student life.

"And I am sure it will be great when you do! I am looking forward to reading it." Akaashi will stop at nothing to make sure Bokuto never gets his hands on his thesis.

His thesis is a combination paper of research and creative writing. He's chosen a subject to pursue and expound on using previous literature and analysis techniques. Then, he'll recreate the subject in a setting of his choice, using his own words to bring it to life.

His topic is on a beloved British detective and his former army-doctor partner, again, a very ambitious topic to pursue. He had been warned, that none of his writing could measure to the original or the dozens of modern spinoffs that have been written following its legacy.

But Akaashi hadn't wanted to compete, he wanted to explore. He had grown up around those books, found on top of his mother's shelves that no one bothered with besides himself. He's always enjoyed a good mystery but found himself drawn to the in-betweens. How the two protagonists lived their lives and cultivated their shared spaces, how other characters seem to mirror their thoughts and desires, a peak at the author's intentions.

_Wish fulfillment_ , his advisor would say, as he criticized the modern depiction Akaashi had written them in. He had tried to explain that it was not about bringing the characters to Japan but exploring a similar dynamic within Japanese modern society. But as Akaashi explained and had his words twisted back, he too got confused with his initial point.

Now he's just revising to meet deadlines and to reach a passing mark, to free himself from the clutches of judgement and pressure. It's a bitter end to his university life but his course mates feel the same. There's a restlessness in the air, students simultaneously feeling like they've outgrown school and inching to explore the real world. Akaashi had felt this too that's why he thought to have a head start but-

He wasn't accepted. So, the future beyond his thesis remained a blur. 

"It might not be of interest to you," it’s not the first time Akaashi says this, Bokuto has consistently asked to read his works, much to his chagrin. Bokuto would always whine and call him a meanie, claiming that he had the attention span to enjoy good literature. Akaashi has no doubts, he simply is too embarrassed to showcase his works to his object of affections.

"Anything you do interests me, Akaashi," comes Bokuto's reply. It contributes to the cloud in Akaashi's stomach, now with the added weight of being guilty with omission.

"Say Keiji," Akaashi perks at the name change, it's rare of them to use each other's first names without getting flustered, "I'd really like to meet your mom."

_Huh_ , Akaashi is blank, the storm clouds in him rumble.

"As your boyfriend, I mean," Bokuto continues, "We met in high school, but we weren't- you know, but I want to meet her now."

Why now, why at a time like this. They've been every definition of a couple for years now. Open to everyone but their parents, even though Bokuto's have an inkling, but Akaashi's-

"She won't take it lightly," Akaashi replies automatically, he feels the unpleasant rumble constrict within his chest, his heartbeat quickens. "She has barely come to terms with me, I can't subject you to her negativity."

"She just cares about you, Keiji, she just wants what's best," Bokuto reassures. What she wants is to forget about Akaashi's coming out.

.

He had come out to her during the end of his sophomore year in university. It was the second time he's disappointed her, the first being when he insisted on majoring in literature. It was a stern battle between passion and stability, with the former barely winning. She had resigned to his choices but cautioned him of future consequences; there had been no talks on his talents and affinity for the work.

Like the first time, she regarded him with scrutiny, lips sealed in a tight pout as she took in his words. Since the start of high school, it had just been the two of them. His dad had run off to live a life without responsibility and them to deal with the consequences.

They hadn't really talked about it, Akaashi's father was the poster figure for toxic masculinity. Angry with his words and his drinking, absent until the wee hours in the morning. He had been the reason for Akaashi's unsettled reaction towards authority, he engrained in him the notion of true men not showing emotion and pushed him into himself.

Akaashi's mother had stayed silent over the years. Before Akaashi thought it was due to indifference, but he would later realize it was a reluctant compliance. His mother pushed him towards the opposite direction, silently pressured him to focus on school and appear as a well-mannered boy. When he had gotten a scholarship to Fukurodani and several other high schools, there were no congratulations just expectations met.

Then suddenly, his father never came home, and the oppression left their lives. It unnerved them both because they weren't used to the newfound freedom. It proved difficult to have conversations freely- they simply didn't know how. Akaashi didn't hold any resentment towards her, but there was a lack of familial affection; a numbness he grew accustomed to.

His mother took late night shifts in the service center she worked in but would leave him sliced fruit in the refrigerator. Daily, he'd come home to an apple or two without fail, the quiet signs of a mother's love. In return, he brought her back high grades and praises from his teachers, a constant reassurance that he was working towards his goals.

They've simply existed within the same apartment, polite conversation occurring once in a blue moon. At times, Akaashi would catch her staring out into the window, looking at nothing in particular. There was a ghost that existed, as if his father could spawn and ruin the semblance of peace they had.

Many times, Akaashi had wanted to ask her- _are you okay_? _how was work today?_ _do you get nightmares too?_ But there was an ocean between them, and it was never the right time to build a bridge.

When he had come out to her, she hadn't reacted with violence. She sat there, default pout of her lips, gaze forward but eyes unsteady. Akaashi felt like she was looking past him, past her son who had come to her with yet another disappointment, and into a future that was dark, bleak, and filled with prejudiced. He didn't know if he had been projecting.

"I see," came a quiet voice. Akaashi remembers how his fingers intertwined that day, the signs of a bad habit he had been trying to avoid.

"It will be difficult."

And that was all she said.

.

The conversation and its implications were never brought up, it was easy since Akaashi lived in the other side of Tokyo. He wouldn't have believed it happened if it weren't for Bokuto's call right after. A concerned tornado of questions; how did it go, how did she react, are you okay-

It happened, Akaashi replied, it's part of my life now. It did nothing to stop the on slaughter of many more questions, most of which varying inquiries on his emotional state.

It hadn't felt like a 'mission accomplished,' which is how Bokuto had described it when he came out to his parents. Bokuto had retold the story like it was a quest from one of Kenma's favored games.

But Bokuto didn't walk into that conversation afraid.

Their coming outs to their respective families had been a catalyst for their label today. They had been dating, or seeing each other more than casual friends do, in the middle of Bokuto travelling everywhere to play volleyball and Akaashi getting used to university life.

It had been a smooth transition from friends to romantic partners, not because it didn't come with any awkwardness, but because they had reached a point wherein their mutual feelings were undeniable.

The change from dating to boyfriends was unceremonious, most of their friends had considered them official even without the declaration.

Bokuto had proudly adorned him with the title, and would later refer to him as, "my boyfriend, Akaashi Keiji," to anyone hereon after. Akaashi was a bit quieter, but the certainty of what they were left a warmth in his chest.

Bokuto insisted that he needed to proclaim his intentions to Akaashi's mother, he declined.

.

Presently, Akaashi thinks of his mother in their apartment on the other side of Tokyo. It would be a two-hour commute to get there, depending on the crowd, but it might as well be an ocean away.

"Why the sudden interest?" Why would you want to build a bridge right now, Akaashi imagines himself asking.

"I think it's time, Keiji."

"Time for what," Akaashi asks dumbly. There is a storm in his chest from the fresh rejection, a thesis mocking him, and now a boyfriend with unbelievably bad timing.

"I mean," Bokuto takes a moment to find the words, "I've been doing very well with the Jackals, I am a starter now, and I've been in campaigns and other projects."

"Yes, you have," Akaashi is confused, what does this have to do with anything.

"I am trying to say- I am in a lot better place, career wise, and I think I can take care of you now," Bokuto adds, "like your mom will have less to worry about, me being an athlete and all."

It's not you being an athlete, Akaashi wants to say, it's about me being gay. But that's an unfair statement, he knows that his mother will have doubts on Bokuto's career choice. He has brought up a valid concern- unexpectedly, which means he's been thinking about this for a while.

"I am," Akaashi takes a deep breath, "shocked that you've been thinking about this."

A laugh, "Don't sound so surprised, Keiji, it is time after all."

"Time for what," Akaashi asks again, dumbly. He feels like he's missing a critical part of the current conversation, like Bokuto was speaking to another version of him.

"Well you are graduating soon, so it's time we move in together."

It's the way Bokuto says it, confidently and without a hint of doubt, that triggers the storm clouds in Akaashi's chest. He feels like he's been struck by lightning, like he's somehow become a conductor of electricity.

Bokuto is rambling about how he's excited to be playing in the same city, how his schedule is much easier to manage, how he can easily move out of the Jackals dormitory in the near future, but all these sound like white noise.

One, two, three- inhale, one, two, three- exhale. Akaashi Keiji is twenty-one and lost.

Bokuto wants to move in together. Bokuto wants to meet his mother. Bokuto doesn't know that he's failed a job application- one he did not tell him he sent, that he's losing the will to complete his thesis by the day, that he's a work in progress that might result in disaster.

He doesn't know if he cuts him off, doesn't know if Bokuto replies, but with the last of his strength he says, "Good luck on your game tomorrow, I love you."

He throws his phone away, slams his laptop screen, the skies in his chest open, he pours.

.

Akaashi wakes up to his alarm ringing loudly from the corner of the floor it had settled on. He begrudgingly stands to pick it up, sees a message from Bokuto and braces himself.

It happened, Akaashi tells himself, it's a part of my life. He feels guilty at the way he reacted last night, made Bokuto a victim to a storm he wasn't aware of.

Akaashi expects anger, his boyfriend had been talking about future plans that should excite anyone in a committed long-term relationship and he had failed to answer Bokuto's request to meet his mother.

Akaashi is a bad boyfriend, bad for not controlling himself, bad for jeopardizing Bokuto's mental state when he had an important game the next day. It's as if Akaashi has a checklist on things to fail at, and today he adds being a boyfriend to the list.

He takes a breath and wills himself to read the text.

> _Didn't realize you were tired last night, sorry!!! I love you, Keiji, I can't wait to see you soonest!!!_

Akaashi is a bad boyfriend but Bokuto is not. He contemplates; had Bokuto realize his mental state and decide to give him a pass, did he really think he was tired and was genuinely sorry, or was this just polite acknowledgment to avoid a fight.

Akaashi knows that Bokuto doesn't speak with an underlying meaning, always honest and straight to the point. He knows that Bokuto, knowingly or not, had forgiven him for what had transpired last night.

Relief is not enough to drown the guilt, the outpour from last night has left a flood in its wake, Akaashi lets it flow.

.

Akaashi attends one class and allocates the rest of his day to thesis, his battleground is the library and his friends are fellow soldiers.

There is a comfort in working with others. Prior to university, Akaashi preferred the companionship of silence and good coffee. Now, he looks to his friends for moral support and nurses a slightly unhealthy caffeine addiction.

They work on their respective projects; his inner circle comprises of four friends who major in varying arts.

"I am just about done for today," Ayaka Okuda (23, Literature Major) says for the fourth time since their arrival. Her thesis is on a horror clown and her creative piece involves having said clown seek out depressed teenagers instead of children.

"No backing down, we have a lot of work to do." Kohei Saito (22, Arts Major) replies, he’s met with groans of distress and agreement. Saito is working on a photo series inspired by indigenous Japan. Once, he had bribed Akaashi to model for one of his photography projects, a particular shot- flowers, shadows, vulnerability, is now Bokuto's current lock screen.

Akaashi is typing up a storm, he had been told that his murderer was too predictable, nevermind that the character had been modelled after the original villain. The piece itself isn’t centered on the mystery, but his adviser had called it boring and that really hurt.

“Just a few more sleepless nights till graduation,” his roommate, Koike Shunta (22, Mass Media Major) says. They have weeks to go before the submission, followed by the defense, then months to wait for graduation- an eternity within the next weeks

“My mom has been bugging me about the details, she wants to make sure to take a day-off during that date,” Saito states. “She must be confident in you graduating,” came a reply, followed by a, “shut up.”

“We’re given two reserved seats, I don’t even know how my parents are going to handle that,” Okuda’s parents are divorced, “I don’t have any preference, they both don’t think literature analysis is a real skill.”

“My parents have been pressuring me to look for work. They don’t believe in the power of freelancing,” Mika Tomita (24, Arts Major) grumbles, “they probably still expect me to find a desk job.”

The chatter continues, it distracts Akaashi momentarily. His studios group has dissolved into a pack of nerves, groans, and disappointments, each sharing their current woes.

“I bet they wouldn’t worry if you just explained to them what you’re working on,” Kohei supplies, “they just want what’s best for you.”

This catches Akaashi’s attention, Tomita huffs, “The keyword is _explain_ , which they don’t allow, we’ve never been the type to talk.”

Akaashi has known Tomita to be boisterous and unafraid; they had often engaged in many conversations on the current state of affairs and their favorite novels- she was the type to talk.

“It gets harder with the distance and times,” Saito replies, he’s retouching photos on his laptop, “with my parents, we both never know what to say.”

Tomita agrees and the conversation continues, both on the frustrations of being an artist and the current state of their home lives. It wasn’t an uncommon topic, art majors are united by the solidarity of being misunderstood and undervalued by modern society, but how this manifest in their respective homes is very personal.

Akaashi looks at his screen and his words stare back at him, highly edited after hours and hours of revisions. Doing edits on the laptop leave no indication of the words that existed prior, except maybe in the history of his settings. But beyond that, after revisions, his original intent is long gone, with nothing more than an indent to be mourned.

Akaashi wonders if he could consider himself a writer. He writes, that’s what is expected of a literature major, but he also does research, analysis, and studies, that award him with no titles. There is a difference between being a writer, an author, and a poet, and although he’s delved into each, he feels as though he’s ankles-deep into an understanding that reaches several feet under.

He must have considered himself a writer to apply for an apprenticeship under a well-known author. He had submitted a portfolio of his best works; publications in the school newspapers, features in local magazines, and personal favorites from his creative writing class. He had curated his portfolio to show his depth and diversity, to showcase how he brought his ideas to life to deliver a message.

And it had been rejected. Not just one, but a collection of what Akaashi considers to be his best works. Parts of himself throughout the years that had made its way to paper for people to scrutinize. Parts of himself that he made vulnerable for consumption.

It's ridiculous, Akaashi knows, to tie your self-worth into your work. There is an appropriate distance between the creator and the created, a line that's drawn to keep the artist safe and the art's meaning intact.

But a part of Akaashi can’t help but to take the rejection personally, his art is the most honest version of himself, and he struggles twice as much to deliver.

Perhaps this is part of the reason why he continues to fail at completing his thesis, because every revision feels like a denial of his true form. He wants to write freely and submit something he's proud of, but it's never enough for his panelists, just like how it's never enough for the world.

Suddenly, familiar rumbles make itself felt within Akaashi's chest. He has a storm in his heart, the floods have once again risen to take its original shape. He knows to expect an impact.

"Say Akaashi-kun, will you be taking Bokuto-kun to graduation?" Okuda asks him, and someone in the background remarks about the blissfulness of romance.

His friends know that his father is no longer in the picture and have met Bokuto multiple times during the nights he sneaks into Akaashi's dorm. The question is simply putting two and two together.

The truth is, he has yet to consider this an option. The idea of Bokuto sitting beside his mom, the former filled with naïve praise, while the latter in quiet disdain, fills Akaashi with dread.

"I wish we all had pro-athlete boyfriends to take to graduation," Tomita calls and Saito hums in agreement.

The table isn't focused on him, so Akaashi should not panic. Okuda is clearly procrastinating on her work, "I am sure he's the type to bring a large bouquet of flowers."

"And balloons," someone else calls. "Bokuto-san seems like the type to propose during graduation." Akaashi freezes.

He feels his cheeks turn red, this would not be the first time his friends have teased him, ever since they found Bokuto to be the inspiration of many of his past (and current) works.

He's blushing but feels guilty. His friends are stringing high praises for their apparent perfect relationship, while Akaashi dodges important life-changing questions on said relationship.

"The wonders of young love," Kohei coos at him, being the ultimate witness to their many moments.

Akaashi can deal with the teasing, "I doubt he’ll be free to attend; the schedule of an athlete is unpredictable."

"Don't be like that, he'd drop everything for you," Okuda tells him, "he's always been the giving type."

Akaashi frowns, that wasn't necessarily true.

"He always brings you flowers when he visits, he delivers enough food to feed all of us during finals, and he's hella generous," Okuda lists, with every point a raindrop falls from the sky.

"I'd kill to have someone take care of me," Saito interjects, "like I get being strong and independent, _but_ , I wouldn't be opposed to someone sending me extra lovin."

"You'll get your lovin' after you go and make a name for yourself," Tomita grumbles, he tsks’ in return.

"Take a shot every time you thought of finding a sugar daddy and leaving college," Saito barks back.

"We aren't all lucky," Tomita responds. No one is looking at him, Akaashi isn't the focus of the joke, but he hears it anyway - _we aren't Akaashi Keiji_.

The two are throwing quips on love and gold digging, Okuda is trying to quiet them down while Kohei resumes working. Akaashi Keiji feels rain in his ribcage, the numbness is back.

He hadn’t given an answer to their question on Bokuto and graduation, just like how he hadn't answered Bokuto’s questions on meeting his mother, or moving in. He hasn't even gone through all the revisions and has emails waiting for him-

"Uhh, Akaashi," Shunta calls to him, "it's 4pm already."

_4pm_ , his mind is unhelpful, Shunta looks at him, confused.

"It's Friday right, doesn't Bokuto usually have his games on Fridays?"

_Oh_ , Bokuto's game, the one Akaashi had distracted him from when he left their call abruptly. And now he’s late to its telecast, what a bad boyfriend he is.

"I see, I..." Akaashi stands up and hastily throws his items in his bag, "will be going back now, to watch the match."

The group choruses their goodbyes. "Cheer for your star extra loud for us," the girls call out, Akaashi runs away.

.

It is raining where Bokuto is, that's what Akaashi can infer from the persistent background noise. The Jackals are staying another night before they make their way back tomorrow.

As usual, Bokuto retells the events of today's match with much enthusiasm. He does this under the assumption that Akaashi has watched the whole thing, but he still wants to share every bit of his feelings. Akaashi had only caught the last two sets, but this detail he leaves out.

Again, Akaashi finds himself only half-listening to his boyfriend, the other half of him is dreading what is to come. Will Bokuto bring up the topics of last night’s conversation- will he be demanding answers? Will he demand answers to why he could not provide answers in the first place?

The rain makes it hard to listen, Bokuto is on the balcony of the room he shares with three other teammates, Akaashi can hear their bickering in the background.

The skies are clear and the moon shines bright in Tokyo, Akaashi feels so far away from him.

Then, the question comes, "How are you today?"

He's rehearsed this already, "I am doing fine, I attended class and studied in the library, my friends wish you well."

There is a pause, "I didn't ask what you did today, I am asking- how are you, Keiji?"

"I am fine, I…,” his hesitation feels like thunder, "I've been going through the motions. I am just tired from all the work."

He expects the dam to break, a confrontation he deserves. Bokuto had given him the option to come clean and now he'll demand for answers.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything but," Bokuto takes a breath, "I've just been worried that we haven't been talking, I don't know if something is up with you."

"We talk almost every night," Akaashi supplies; he likes their talks, he likes hearing Bokuto live the life he's dreamed of.

"I just worry, about you, and us, and," for a moment, Akaashi only hears rain, "I just want you to know that we can talk about anything."

_Anything_ , his brain repeats, _anything except the things that bother me because I am too much of a coward to admit to my imperfections._

"You can always talk to me too," Akaashi hears the sounds of droplets hitting the ceiling, he can almost reach out and touch them.

There is a silence between them, Akaashi doesn’t know if it’s comfortable or not. He doesn’t know if Bokuto is scrutinizing this interaction, if he’s trying to decipher that things Akaashi had and had not said.

He knew not to underestimate his boyfriend, who is perceptive on and off the court. Bokuto may sometimes appear clueless to the untrained civilian, but he uses this as a cover to ask questions and get real answers. He doesn’t waste time making assumptions, if he thought something was wrong, he would ask.

"I can't wait to come home." To come home to you, is what Akaashi hears.

Their dynamic dictates that Akaashi is the one Bokuto comes back to, it comes with his profession; but when had he decided that Akaashi was home.

How long had he been thinking of moving in together? Had he realized this recently, during phone calls in-between away games, or was this always what he had expected, that Akaashi would grow up and they would live together.

The revelation should make Akaashi feel warm, he should be giddy at the idea of his boyfriend wanting to commit long-term. He wants nothing more than to stay by his side.

Would he have reacted differently if the rejection didn’t come, if he failed to apply in the first place; or would the question on his mother have thrown him off- made it impossible to enjoy this discussion.

Then there was his thesis, the cause of his general unrest which had been months in the making. Would Bokuto still have asked the question had he known of Akaashi’s state of mind, would that have made any difference?

Akaashi forgets to reply to Bokuto. He feels the rain, he feels the thunder, he feels the numbness which is ironic because numbness shouldn't feel like anything. He should feel sad for his rejection, angry for his thesis, and happy that his boyfriend wanted to take the next step; why was this so hard for him.

"Keiji, what's wrong?", the question finally comes.

He could still run away, blame the rain for the bad signal and tell his boyfriend to rest, but he's so very tired.

"I failed," on instinct, "I mean, I was rejected by the literature department I applied for- it was for Bungakukai magazine. I found out yesterday, it's not a big deal."

"What," Bokuto's voice shakes, "you found out yesterday?"

"It's no big deal really, the expectations were far too high for a fresh graduate-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bokuto demands, "Why did you let me ramble on last night like an idiot while you were feeling this way?" Bokuto's hands must shake because there's momentary static, "You should have told me- I wouldn't have let you go so easily."

So Bokuto did know; he knew and had decided to give Akaashi space because that's what he craved when overwhelmed.

"You didn't need to know, you had a game and," he pauses, "Are you crying?"

"Maybe," Bokuto snaps back, Akaashi hears sniffles and more muffles. "This is a big deal for you, Akaashi. I am just really upset."

"I'll simply apply for another job after graduation. There's no reason to get upset at me."

"What," Bokuto asks incredulously, "Do you think I am upset with you for failing a job application?"

"No, of course not, I mean, it doesn't affect you directly, so I don't expect you to feel..."

"What do you mean this doesn't affect me directly?" Bokuto tries, "It affects you, it matters to you, so it matters to me." Bokuto rubs his forehead, willing his emotions to calm.

"I just, know that this is important to you, you collect all of their magazines and reread them all the time," there really are tears in Bokuto's eyes, he shouldn't be reacting this harshly but just _knowing_. "I just don't know why you didn't tell me- if something's upsetting you, we should talk."

"I don't need the pity," Akaashi replies stiffy.

"No one would have pitied you, Ji." Bokuto mutters back, "Since when does rejection mean pity? Since when are we ashamed when things don't go our way?"

Akaashi remains silent on the other end, but the mention of shame shifts the tides of the storm.

"Since when do we judge each other on our failures," there's a dry chuckle, "If I had you judge me for every time I've fucked up, I'd be a clown by now."

"But you don't judge me, Ji. Every failed spiked, years on the bench, years making a fool of myself in front of the world- you've never made me feel any shame for that." Bokuto grips his phone with both his hands, his voice sounds incredibly close, "You're the first person I talk to when I have a bad day, first person I tell when I do something stupid, you're the first person I want to talk to when I don't feel okay."

Akaashi is listening, tears start to prickle on the corners of his eyes.

"I can take the world judging me, it doesn't matter because you never do; you've always been there for me," Bokuto wills himself to control the tears, "I love you and I don't know what's going on- why didn't you tell me?"

It's the way Bokuto is so clearly trying to be strong, trying to puzzle out Akaashi's feelings first before going through his own; that finally invites the storm.

"I just didn't know," Akaashi sobs, "I didn't know how to say it, I didn't want to feel this way over something that shouldn't have affected me so strongly."

Cheeks wet, heart throbbing, Akaashi lets go, "I didn't want to feel this way over the rejection. The past few weeks have been _so hard_."

"And I enjoy our conversations, I love hearing about your victories, while I..." he lets out a shuddered breath, "It helps me forget, these things I don't like feeling."

He's sobbing freely now, hiccupping and creating noises that do not sound attractive on the phone. Bokuto listens to his tears, he doesn't make a sound as Akaashi tries to release the storm inside of him. Every time he tries to will himself to calm down, a new wave rushes over him, he chokes on his emotions and tries not to drown.

Bokuto doesn't know the whole reason behind this inclement weather, he stays for the whole of it anyway. When Akaashi starts to calm down, heavy breathing dissolving into a smoother pattern, Bokuto finally speaks.

"It's okay to feel this way, Ji," Bokuto's voice is clear of any static, Akaashi listens.

"It's okay to have big feelings over things that matter to you," Akaashi can feel his smile from miles away, "The literature magazine, your writing, your future, they all matter to you. You're not wrong for caring about all of that deeply."

"These tears, these emotions, they're a part of you too. The only one who can understand them is you; so don't try to deny them," Bokuto whispers, "let yourself feel what you want."

Feel what you want, a simplification of the matter at hand, Akaashi notes. But the ease in Bokuto's tone, the certainty in his honest words, gives him comfort.

"I still get big feelings, with volleyball. I still get a rush of nervousness before a big game, the excitement of doing a cool move, the sadness when we lose. It gets overwhelming," he chuckles, "I get big feelings for you all the time."

Akaashi leans in, "Really?"

"Always. Whenever I come home and see your face my heart goes PWAH, and when we go on dates, I feel a BOOM. And when you’re happy, I feel happy too," Bokuto delivers the next words like a kiss, "I get sad when you get sad, I am scared when we don't talk - so many big feelings."

Akaashi whispers, "Does it get overwhelming?"

"It does. But in a good way. In a way that feels like, when I feel too much at least I know you feel it too." _Don't you,_ comes unspoken.

"I do too." Akaashi lets himself breath, there are tear marks on his cheeks, a shakiness in his hands, but he feels his heart start to calm. 

"We need to talk about this when I get back." _This_ is a lot of things, this is Akaashi's state of mind, the progress of his academics, the idea of moving in together, his insecurities on his future. _This_ is scary.

"We do," Akaashi promises, both to his partner and to himself. There is a hum in agreement, the rain has settled on both sides.

"I love you, Keiji, I'll be home soon," it sounds like a promise in return.

"Come home soon, Koutarou."

.

Akaashi wakes up the next day and feels okay. There is an exhaustion from yesterday's cry and a large probability that he'll have a very concerned roommate on his hands. His eyes are bloodshot, his energy still depleted, but he feels okay.

He walks into the kitchen to find no roommate. Shunta must have decided to visit his parents over the weekend. When he opens their refrigerator, he finds clumsily sliced apples on a plate, toothpicks stuck to their tips; the gesture leaves a familiar sense of familial longing.

He munches on the apples and reads a text, the Jackals had started to make their way home during the wee hours of the morning, Bokuto will be here soon.

Akaashi cleans up and washes his face, he tidies his room to prepare for his partner's arrival. He hesitates but opens his laptop to stare at his thesis. He googles how to retrieve previous versions of his saved file and manages to salvage an original copy of his thesis.

It's not much but it's comforting to have it available to him. Perhaps one day he'll revisit those words.

He goes through some edits, fixes his grammar, and sends the new draft to his adviser. It won't be perfect, but it's one less thing to have hanging on his head over the weekend.

His hands drift towards his phone, he feels it's appropriate when he finds his mother's contact details. It's uncharacteristic for them to call unless there was something of importance, and texts were far in between but-

He thinks to the plate of apples he's just devoured and the picture he took of them to thank his roommate.

Before he can hesitate, he sends his mother the picture of the sliced apples. He wonders if she'll understand, if she'll even respond to the text. It seems like a thoughtless gesture, but bridges aren't built in a day.

> _are you eating well?_

The response makes him chuckle, he shoots her a reply in return.

It's a quarter to twelve when the door knocks, Akaashi rises to answer it. It's a brief moment to unlatch the lock and open the door, then, there he is.

Bokuto is standing in front of him. Ridiculously, the strap of his training bag is around his forehead, reminiscent of their time in high school; he carries a bag of convenience store food on one hand and flowers on the other.

Bokuto opens his arms, wide.

Akaashi doesn’t hesitate to meet his embrace, tucking himself against his chest and letting his arms wrap around his middle, warm and tight. They stand in his doorway for far too long, the food and flowers touch Akaashi's back, and Bokuto's forehead strains from carrying his bag, but they bask in the comfort.

"I am home," Bokuto mumbles, his nose buried in Akaashi's locks.

"Welcome home," comes his reply.

.

The words of Okuda are true. Bokuto is very giving. He manages to bring them double of what a sane person would eat, along with an assortment of drinks, snacks, and candies; most of which will find their way in the cabinets for Akaashi's friends to consume.

The flowers, also from the convenience store, are a staple to his visits. They are dry and nearing the end of their shelf life, probably not worth the few hundred yen he had to pay. But Bokuto had picked up this habit when they started dating, to distinguish his best friend gestures with his romantic ones.

Akaashi finds a small glass to put them in, they'll be his companion for the week to come. They make their way through lunch, clean up after, and settle on the couch.

The question comes again, "How are you, Keiji?"

"I am doing better. Last night was good for me, sorry I probably scared you," he brings his knees to his chest, "I was being so weird about it."

"You aren't weird," Bokuto reassures, "thank you for opening up to me, I know it was hard." He has his arms stretched across the top of the couch, Akaashi settles in.

"Thank you for listening, I know I can be stubborn with my feelings, but I am glad I told you." Akaashi finds himself reaching for his fingers and curses himself for slipping into that habit.

"You got me, Ji. Tell me what's been bothering you."

Akaashi details the application process, the effort he placed in curating his portfolio, and the rejection email. He describes the numbness, how it had weighted him down until he inevitably crashed.

"Sometimes I get jealous," he admits, "that you knew you wanted to spend your life playing volleyball so early on. I've spent four years in university and still don't know the kind of writer I want to be."

"Well I had help," Bokuto's eyes twinkle back, "I had this really amazing setter who helped me overcome my weaknesses and made me realize that volleyball was fun." They both chuckle to that.

"I think it's wonderful that you have options," Bokuto adds, "you get to choose who you want to be and work towards that."

"It's also scary," Akaashi admits, he twists his fingers.

"But it could also be fun," Bokuto reminds.

"It’ll be a work-in-progress, you know; finding a job, getting comfortable in a new space, learning new things," Akaashi stares at his hands, "when you said you wanted to move-in together, I was afraid."

Twist, turn, he pulls at his fingers. "I was afraid you'd realize how far away we are at life. I've barely begun, while you’re at the height of your career. You have the whole world looking at you, I don’t want to hold you back."

Bokuto pouts at this, he doesn't take too well to Akaashi's self-deprecation. Akaashi looks gloomy and is fiddling with his fingers excessively, a habit of his overthinking. Bokuto has an idea.

He moves to cup Akaashi's face with the palms of both his hands, fingers around his cheeks. He tilts his face upwards to level them; their eyes meet.

"Now I really do have the whole world looking at me," he smiles cheekily, the blush on Akaashi's face is well earned.

"Idiot," Akaashi replies but makes no attempt to move away.

"How can I be so far ahead when I am right here?" Bokuto asks, "how can you hold me back when you're the one who's been pushing me forward?"

"Keiji, it's okay to be a mess right now, you don't need to figure everything out," he says earnestly, "I love you, I don't think about breaking up, I don't think about the messes you and I make because I know we can always fix them."

He doesn't think about breaking up, Akaashi's heart does a flip, now _that_ statement has future implications.

"I am not ready to move in with you after graduation, at least not until I find a stable job." Akaashi admits, Bokuto opens his mouth to protest but is cut off, "I have my reasons, if you'd hear me out."

So Bokuto listens. If they were to share a space, they would need to finance this accordingly, which means being privy to personal details. It's a big commitment so they should wait until they're both financially capable to handle the responsibility.

Akaashi lets it slip that his mother had married right after college; she had been a housewife up until his dad left and struggled to reenter the workforce. She strung in him the values of discipline, stability, and responsibility, the only gift she could give her son to ensure him of a better future.

Akaashi also desires to be self-sufficient, he wants to live independently, just so he can experience the freedom and the challenge. He knows that reaching financial stability will be difficult in his chosen industry; he wants to add something to his name before relying on his boyfriend.

Bokuto smiles and takes him into a hug, chest to chest, Akaashi feels brave. "I respect that, I'll always be cheering for you even when we're apart."

"But," he adds, "I still want to meet your mother. I want her to know how much I love her son."

She just wants what’s best, Akaashi chants to himself. He thinks of big feelings, sliced apples, and overwhelming silence. He thinks of the fears they share, of the words they struggle with, of detective books on top shelves- untouched but always free of dust; perhaps that apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

"Okay," he'll try to build this bridge.

The smile Bokuto makes is blinding, like a star he shines bright at the idea of meeting his beloved's mother; with a reaction like that, how could Akaashi continue to worry.

"What else can I do, to help you right now?"

"Right now," Akaashi contemplates, Bokuto does a fairly good job at keeping him happy. He's always available to talk, Akaashi just needs to reach out, and he's always been thoughtful.

"Thesis is something I need to work on alone but," Akaashi looks at him thoughtfully, "if you will, there's something I'd like for you to read when time permits."

Akaashi can entrust to him the words he values so much. The unedited version of his original intentions and their implications. The story he crafted for reasons beyond his thesis may never see publication, but he knows that his partner will keep them safe and cherish this in his own way. Akaashi can find partial peace at being heard and understood; his words are his purest and most honest form.

"Anything you write interests me," Bokuto smiles at him and everything is settled.

They talk some more; updates on his thesis and the general declining state of student life, other job opportunities that interests Akaashi and ways he plans on improving his portfolio, and more personal plans after graduation. ( _"Let's go on a trip, Keiji!" "We'll see, Koutarou."_ )

Bokuto shares his current concerns; he's convinced that the new assistant coach hates him, and so does the incoming new recruit ("Omi-kun and our setter keep fighting, but not really, it's getting kinda weird"), and he wants to spend the off-season together to celebrate Akaashi's graduation.

The next few weeks will be long, but the future isn't so unclear. There will be graduation, the job hunt, the trip his friends have been planning, getting to watch Bokuto's games live again, planning a getaway with Bokuto, hoping the celebration party Bokuto is unsubtly planning won't end in a big mess.

"Okay," he tells him. Okay to celebrating his graduation, okay to working towards living together, okay to sharing more of his feelings, okay to staying together through rains and inclement weather.

"Okay," Bokuto answers back. He's pulled Akaashi on his lap, they snuggle on the couch, the afternoon brings them no troubles and responsibilities. For a moment, they just exist, content and secure.

.

It takes three rings before his mother picks up. Pleasantries are exchanged, he's already emailed her the university issued declaration that he's been greenlit for graduation. Another attachment indicates that he's reached the required GPA to graduate with honors, she seems pleased.

She asks about graduation details and promises to take the day off, she even asks where he'd like to have dinner and whether they should invite his grandparents. The conversation flows naturally, today the ocean is calm.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Mother," he interjects before she's listed all the best possible restaurants in Tokyo, "there is someone I'd like for you to meet."

There is a silence, one that Akaashi might have once interpreted as disdain or judgement. But silence had been a commodity in their household up until they had too much. To the Akaashis, silence was space, an underappreciated love language.

So, he continues to speak, tone bright and words in a hurry, in a manner he hoped would conceal his nervousness.

"Okay," she replies, "I'd like to meet him."

The ocean shrinks into the size of a lake, still vast but not as daunting. As a writer, it's always an honor to be heard, as a son, it's dignifying to be listened to.

He doesn’t try to stop the happy drizzle of tears, Akaashi Keiji is a month away from graduating and the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone and do not know how it amassed to such a length, nonetheless I am happy to have it take form. Three major points of importance:
> 
> 1\. I wanted to depict the difficult Asian family dynamic, mine included, that struggles with affection and communication. I wanted to show that his father’s absence stunted both his and his mother’s emotional growth. She’s imperfect, but she means well, I hope the complexity came across. 
> 
> 2\. As a former CommArts major, I need to say: Justice for Underappreciated Art Majors! Passion always triumphs. 
> 
> 3\. Lastly, I wanted to depict Akaashi as an unreliable narrator. The way he expects Bokuto, his mom, and his friends to react (or to feel) is usually inaccurate due to his overthinking and his self-perception. 
> 
> Bonus: If you get the Sherlock reference, you /know/
> 
> Thank you for reading this, feel free to leave comments on how I can improve. Let’s talk, I have lots of fun on [twitter](https://twitter.com/itsfluffyham) | [tumblr](https://fluffysparklyham.tumblr.com/) see you there!


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